Perspective
by Shiroi Sagi
Summary: Hermione has one chance to prevent Dumbledore's death and she cannot resist her Gryffindor nature and takes it but finds herself tangled in a mess as she fiddles with Time itself; she returns to her time with new perspective and new challenges to face.
1. Chapter 1

******Author's Notes: **I feel obligated to inform readers that I am unlikely to update this fanfiction at all. As evidenced by my other fanfictions, I have little capacity to finish anything that I start. For that reason, those that cannot stand cliffhangers, abort now, or if you truly like it (which, by this point, I doubt you do), you'll have to PM me every single day to make me even think about writing more if I have already lost interest. Everything I upload is a sketch, and if I know it is going to be a blight on the fanfiction world, I will take it off. I hope that I can do better in the future, but for now, enjoy what you can.

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Chapter One

The sun was low in the sky, shadowing the large cumulus clouds a deep purple color. In the pond, a frog croaked his mating song as the garden gnomes snickered amongst themselves in the bushes. Two shadows came into being upon the grass, startling the warty amphibian back into the water with a splash.

"Come on, Crookshanks, into my arms...there we go..." Hermione shifted Crookshanks, already old and feeling the effects of arthritis, despite being a cat from the wizarding world. Knocking on the door, a cat's face carved itself out of the wood.

"Name, darling?" it rasped into the silence.

"Hermione Granger, Miffy," she said, reaching into her bag for a treat. She had discovered that even wooden cats liked treats-she just hadn't figured out where all those tuna chews went.

"Come in, dear, she's waiting for you."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly as she entered the abode of Professor McGonagall, shutting the door firmly behind her. Walking past the familiar set of Gryffindor sayings above the stove, she went directly to Professor McGonagall's bedroom. Walking in as quietly as possible, she knocked on the door.

"...Miss Granger?" Without missing a beat, Hermione answered in a practiced manner. "Professor, I came as soon as I could."

"I understand you have many questions for me; sit down by the bed." Walking over to the prostrate form of her professor, Hermione gazed at her cancer stricken teacher. Wizarding cancers were unavoidable for a select few, and Professor McGonagall happened to have a family history of the Bumble-Skrewt disease, originating from the Blast-Ended Skrewts that Hagrid was so fond of. It hit every 7th generation, and the Stupefying incident only made the onset of the disease earlier.

"I have little time left, and it seems out of the ordinary to be sharing it with a student, but it is both necessary and important for you to partake in the information I have for you. This will influence you for the rest of your life, whatever you choose."

Hermione nodded solemnly, mind already racing. The war was over-what could Professor McGonagall say that would have such an effect at such a peaceful time? Was it unrelated to the war? Was Harry in trouble? She sat up, ready to hear it.

"You know as well as I do-perhaps even better, the circumstances surrounding Professor Dumbledore's death. You know that Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape were innocents. You are an intelligent girl. I...have a way for you to turn back time."

Here, Hermione was already full of questions and had a mindful of possibilities. "But, Professor, how can that be done? It violates a huge amount of wizarding law, and we couldn't possibly change anything without being seen."

"Miss Granger, let me finish. This is not a Time Turner. This...will bring you back to whatever time you set it to, and you will be you, but you will have the knowledge and purpose that you possess now, in order to change what must be changed. It is a secret project of Professor Dumbledore's, and I have continued it in his stead. Now, you have one chance, and one chance only. Once you use the Watch, it will be destroyed."

Hermione was nearly shell-shocked with the decisions she had to make. If she refused to do it, she would be plagued with "what-if" for the rest of her life. If she accepted it, she would have an entirely different set of problems to deal with. But her Gryffindor nature won her over, despite the intelligence she always showed.

"I'll do it, Professor."

Coughing, Professor McGonagall raised her wand. Doing a series of complicated wand movements, she pointed the wand purposefully at an indiscriminate pile of papers. Shivering slightly, the stack seemed to burn into particles that disappeared into the air, revealing a plain brown box, which slid open soundlessly.

"Take it from the box, please, Miss Granger. It will do nothing now."

Gingerly reaching into the box to reveal it to the light, Hermione laid a brilliant white stone against her own skin. Adorned with nothing, Hermione could clearly see the fragments of magic causing fissures on the stone's surface. She could feel something ethereal from this stone, but she couldn't figure out exactly what it was. She handed it to Professor McGonagall.

"When you are ready, come here again. If I have passed, my wand will be bequeathed to you, and if you, and only you have this capability, point the wand to the papers again, the stone will reveal itself to you, as my wand as opened the box and you have imprinted yourself onto the stone."

"Like a Snitch?" Professor McGonagall smiled briefly. "As clever as ever. You need only tap the stone twice and it will become a watch. Wind the longest hand to the year, the second longest to the month, the shortest to the day, and it will send your conscience there."

Hermione nodded, and after trying to make normal conversation for a while, left Professor McGonagall's house feeling quite overwhelmed and confused. Her professor had acted very nonchalant about the whole business, but Hermione was still thinking about all the consequences as she prepared a late dinner for herself.

Scooping a bit of the shepherd's pie from the night before into the bowl, she thought about her and Ron. Would she be able to change that too? Would she be able to help Harry in ways she hadn't thought possible with all of the knowledge she was armed with?

She twirled her wand over the food, warming it even as the juice poured itself into the tumbler. She would go. She had to, for the sake of the wizarding world and for her friends. Surely Harry would do the same, wouldn't he? Making up her mind, she ate dinner slowly before packing her things for St. Mungo's the next morning. She would do her interning work and conduct public business as usual to avoid suspicion, and arrange necessary things for her trip back into time in the seclusion of her apartment. Tucking into bed, she tried to forget about the burden of life.

She felt nervous as she made her early morning rounds, waving hello to the old man recovering from his episode with the doorknob. Her hands were trembling when she finally exited St. Mungo's from the employee floor. Appearing in her apartment, she sat down to catch her breath. Standing up suddenly, she told herself to get going.

She realized she didn't have to bring anything with her. If she did, it would all disappear anyway, since she would be herself as a 6th year in Hogwarts. Apparating to McGonagall's, she found herself faced with the plain wood door again.

"Name, please?" the cat asked dryly, its expressionless wooden eyes staring into Hermione's.

"Hermione Granger." she stated.

"She's been expecting you to come..." the door swung open.

Hermione fairly raced up the stairs to McGonagall's bed. Professor McGonagall was sitting up when Hermione burst in. She gave a faltering smile to the younger girl.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready as ever." McGonagall revealed the box again, and Hermione took it out of the box. Bringing it closer to McGonagall, Hermione tapped the surface of the stone twice. Suddenly, there seemed to be an intense, yet quiet ring emitting from the rock.

There was an anticlimactic poof of smoke and in her palm lay an alabaster watch, stopped at 12, 12, and 12. Twisting the winding mechanism, Hermione took a breath and stopped it at the the first number of the year, then to the second, then the third, then the fourth. It was only minutes later when she began to twist the day-hand. She looked at Professor McGonagall, who laid her hand over Hermione's and stopped the hand at the day.

Then Hermione was floating somewhere-in a dream? Everything had disappeared. It was a world of white. Snow? Memories passed before her in slow motion. Was she dying? She had no body, no eyes to squeeze shut. Then she awoke with a start.

"Hermione! I'm quite surprised you're still in bed. That's alright, join us for breakfast in the Great Hall! You know, Gryffindor's playing Slytherin tomorrow, and we need to see the team off to practice this morning."

Hermione sat up to face the beaming smile of Parvati. The Watch had worked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **To IdoNOThaveANaccount:

I think most of your questions will be answered within this chapter. I am extremely grateful to have reviews like yours. Scathing in a way, but VERY good for story development, as I did not think of half the problems you questioned. Unfortunately, you'll find me quite the coward, in that I've avoided most of the problems that popped up, and also, updated with the knowledge that this chapter isn't much longer than the previous. I have made my effort to update faster, but this is in part because of the break that I have been given for Thanksgiving, allowing me ample time to be typing away. The length is attributed to the fact that I have mental capacity to write a story bit only in its entirely, never broken up and developed over time. Anything I upload is a first draft and probably the only draft. It is short because I can't type for more than two to three hours straight.

So, thank you to those expressing interest. I am afraid that this story is already taking a telltale plummet because the plot makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

MAJOR DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, the story, its characters, or any other form of it. I directly quote from the 6th book several times.

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

She took a deep breath, and began to struggle out of the bed covers, trying to be the 6th-year version of Hermione, whom she idealised as a very annoying, stuck-up girl who worried about anything she could wrap her mind around. Or, just a lot worse than she was (or will be) after the war. Hermione went with worrying.

"Oh no," Hermione threw the bed covers off in an overdone, hasty way, struggling into her socks as she shouted, "I'll be there in just a moment, I'm so sorry!" She hurried into the bathroom, and continued, "I can't believe I overslept, I promise it doesn't happen often."

Parvati just shook her head at the flailing girl and slung her crossbody over her shoulder, linking arms with Lavender. "We'll meet you outside the stairs, Lavender wants to talk to Seamus or something."

Leaning on the sink, Hermione was distraught. She couldn't act like a silly little idiot all the time. She desperately wanted to shoot a sardonic remark at the two giggling girls and have something backing it for once. Something like the weight of war-but that was another secret. Darn those secrets.

Dressing with the speed from experience (it comes with running away from the entire wizarding world for a year or so), she ran out, hair neat and robes smoothed out, her books somewhat out of order, as she had randomly stuffed anything she thought looked useful into it, not knowing her class schedule.

"Parvati! Lavender!" The two girls turned, and Hermione fell into step with them as they continued laughing loudly about Seamus' "absolutely lovely" accent.

"You know, I can't believe he still has such a heavy accent, even after being around us all the time. It's so weird, what do you think, Hermione?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course..." Hermione was shuffling through her bag, looking disinterested in the conversation. Lavender turned away, used to Hermione's indifference. "Then, you think he's better than Ron, then, don't you?"

Still rooting around for some semblance of a class schedule, Hermione didn't respond. Lavender was unable to make anything of that, and scowled, starting to rate boys they passed from one to ten by level of handsomeness-the poor boy shuffling in from the two o'clock direction got a four.

Finally able to find her journal, she sighed in the face of a comforting sight at last. Flipping to the worn-out "Schedules" pages, she scanned her classes, memorizing them as fast as possible. Just as she tucked the journal away, they were entering the Great Hall. It was magnificent as ever, the morning sun seeming to shine into the very corners of the hall. Hermione nearly keeled over at the sight of Dumbledore once again residing over the high-back chair at the center of the professor's table.

She made her way separately to the Gryffindor table, furtively trying to find Malfoy at the same time. She saw him sneering with Crabbe and Goyle as they pointed at some random third-year who had fallen asleep in his porridge.

"Oi, Hermione, about time you got down here; look, Harry, I've gotten up earlier than her for once!"

"Shut it, Ronald, I can sleep however late I want to." She sniffed, grabbing a pitcher of milk and pouring it over her cereal. She had unconsciously reached for the fat free milk she thought, horrified. She didn't make the switch to fat free until way after the war. She dug into her cereal, trying to be normal.

"Hi Harry, Ron-"

"Hey, Hermione, you know that Potions essay that Snape gave us two weeks ago?"

Hermione gave him a scathing stare, trying to make up something in time. "Goodness knows what essay you're talking about, I've done at least ten in the past week," she groused somewhat convincingly.

Ron put his hands up as Harry snickered into his toast, "Alright, alright, don't need to get so defensive, it was the one on the effect of different proportions of ingredients on the Pepper-Up potion, you know?"

Hermione mentally sighed in relief again-trying to put herself back in time was stressful. "I'll do it just this once. I'm not helping you again."

Ron brightened, nodding rapidly. He shoved his blotted essay under her nose. She scanned it with a practiced eye, tapping with her wand periodically. Handing it back to him, mistake-free, she filled a little take-out box with some fruit and a cinnamon bun and got up.

"Where are you going, Hermione?" Harry asked, standing up as well.

"Oh, just to the library to check some facts." She walked briskly away from the Gryffindor table, spotting Malfoy again, before ducking her head away.

Almost running into Madam Pince, she plopped herself into a chair, and flipped open her journal. Herbology hands-on demonstration next class, a Potion lecture...the Potions essay due, reading for Defense of the Dark Arts, a Transfiguration mini-exam for turning ribbons into snakes and Charms written exam next class.

She groaned, trying to bring back things she had studied before. This would require serious studying sessions. She would take a quick trip back to the dorms now that she knew what was going on and hurry over to Defense of the Dark Arts as fast as she could.

"Password?" The Fat Lady looked down at Hermione. Gasping, Hermione realized she had no idea what the password was. "I..." Luckily for her, a nervous first-year was slipping out of the portrait hole.

"What's the password?" She asked him, and quite easily, got him to stammer, "Frog legs!" before letting him run off.

Reemerging from the portrait hole minutes later, Hermione hurried off to class.

Snape was presiding at the front, tapping on the blackboard. Hermione felt like napping, as she was well-versed in the subject he was teaching.

It was later, in the common room, as Ron had handed her another essay that needed correction, that Hermione was finally let on to where she was in the year.

"Slughorn's memory is still pending; I can't think of what to do, maybe a potion or a spell..."

Hermione widened her eyes. Already this late in the stage of events? And to think I thought I had given myself time! "No, you can't do it like that, Harry, Dumbledore's told you that only you can get the memory from him, so obviously, you've got something that can persuade him that others don't, or else anyone could slip him a potion and get it out of him."

She straightened the essay over her lap, staring at the misspelled words, feeling an intense wave of deja vu. "No, 'augury' doesn't start with O-R-G; what sort of a quill are you using?"

"One of Fred and George's Spell-Check ones...but the charm must be wearing off or something..."

"I would imagine so; your name certainly isn't Roonil Wazlib." She flicked out her wand and began tapping the parchment, changing the faulty words. She realized, as she tapped (slowly, to allow her more time to think), that she was, at this time jealous with Ron and Lavender, and that Dobby and Kreacher were making regular visits to update on Malfoy, and that very soon, Harry would be getting Slughorn's memory when Aragog died. This also marked when Harry would be making the voyage with Dumbledore to the fake locket. She wanted to cry right then and there, realizing the gravity of where she had put herself in time.

"R-ron, your essay is done," she stuttered, excusing herself to the girl's dormitories.

"It was under her covers that Hermione planned her method of action. She was still uncertain about what she would do about Malfoy and Snape. Uncharacteristically, she put off thinking about that, and went to sleep in a horrid mood.

Hermione went along with what she remembered she had done before, cheering reluctantly as Harry got the memory, admonishing Harry properly after the Sectumsempra episode, and waited with dread for the day he would depart with Dumbledore.

Finally, Harry was leaving. He gave the Felix Felicis to Ron, wrapped in a pair of socks. "Er-why do I need socks?"

"It's the Felix Felicis-wrapped in there, Hermione, make sure you get it around to everyone, say goodbye to Ginny for me."

With more and more anxiety, Hermione burst into tears and hugged Harry, before running off, out of the dorms.

Sobbing, she tried to think of a way to stop what was coming at her like a bullet train. She hadn't thought of a plan, she hadn't wanted to think of one, and now that the day was here, she was rock-bottom with nothing to show for herself.

Trembling as she made her way to the Astronomy Tower, she sat in the shadows, casting a Disillusionment Charm over herself. She seemed to have fallen asleep, for she awoke to the sound of a bang very near her ear.

"Good evening, Draco." Hermione was horrified. She was now witness to a terrible event in wizarding history. Dumbledore was up against the ramparts and Draco had his wand up, which was trembling furiously in the light of the Dark Mark.

Hermione seemed to blur the words they were saying together. Lifting her wand, she waved it and cast the nonverbal spell just as the Death Eaters burst into the tower. As if in slow motion, Draco's wand sailed into Dumbledore's hand, and the he reacted quickly, throwing up a shield. Hermione was wide-eyed, scared of what she had done. Snape had entered just now, to the sight of a white-faced Draco and a slumped Dumbledore, wand held up, eyes still bright.

Hermione looked about for Harry, but seeing nothing, imagined him (hoped him) to be under his cloak. It was at this moment, when everything about Hermione swirled-the people were disappearing, the tower blended into nothingness, and she felt something similar to when she had time traveled with the Watch.

All was quiet, and she found herself in a cavernous room, with bookshelves upon bookshelves of cards. An old man was approaching her.

"Hmm, hmm, got to adjust that there..." he rasped to himself,

pulling out a card. Hermione saw it to be wrapped in some sort of thin, silky thread. She watched him tap the loose end with his finger, and open-mouthed, saw the string unwind onto his long, spindly finger and stop somewhere in the middle. Balancing his card on his knee, the old man dug a pair of ancient looking scissors out of his pocket and did some complicated snipping and tying to the string before winding it back up and placing it back on the shelf.

"Ah, a witch come to visit me, eh? First one in about seven centuries my dear! Last one was Drella Grendelwither, and she met an unfortunate end, I'm afraid..." he continued to mutter to himself, and Hermione just stood, shell-shocked.

"Are you...Fate himself?"

He grinned, showing a surprisingly, straight row of well-brushed white teeth. Pushing up his spectacles on his nose, he looked up at Hermione. "Bright, huh, Miss Granger. I might be called that somewhere in history, but I'm just a humble timekeeper. You, Miss Granger, have done a very bold crime that will most likely result in your death."

"Most likely? Does that mean I can do something to live?" The old man chuckled to himself, pointing to an armchair Hermione didn't remember seeing before. "Sit, Miss Granger."

"Tell me, please, what should I do?" she asked, afraid for her life.

"Well, you've already gone back in time, without me letting you. As in, you tried to write your own time string. That doesn't sit well with me, since I have to go and figure out why the time strings aren't corresponding." He gestured at the nearly endless looking line of shelves. "As you can see, it is quite a bother to go through all the records, even if it is only the Britons."

"But I still got to be faulty for over three months!" she protested, forgetting she was literally, in the hands of Time.

"Miss Granger, I chose to allow you to continue, wondering what the purpose was. And now, I've seen that you tried to change someone else's time string. Namely, that of Albus Dumbledore's. I could've sworn I cut that one, but I had to go and root out that problem too. Two offenses, I get offended."

"But, how can I remedy this?"

"Good question, Miss Granger. You really can't. You've already bothered me twice over, and that's enough, even once every seven centuries. What you can do...is try to make the change from the start, when no one's time strings were intertwined yet. You would have to take the step to lose all your memories and go back to the very first year in Hogwarts. You'd be in whatever position it takes to be able to influence Draco in such a way that he would never kill Dumbledore, and Riddle would never rise again, and you'd all lead happy, normal lives filled with the warrior legends of the earlier war against Riddle. Or, you could die."

"And, what did Drella Grendelwither use to decide?"

"Oh, the silly bat went crazy-I think she got confused about who I was; I just sent her back to her time to be dealt with; I've got nothing to do with lunatics, anyway."

"Oh. Then...I've got just the two options?" Hermione felt suddenly immune to surprises and stress. She detached herself from the situation, trying to preserve her sanity as she processed another live-or-die choosing game. Live a second life unknowingly, or die knowing what you've done to the rest of the people your choice made down there?

"Can I visit dead people from here, Mr. Fate?"

"Certainly, Miss Granger. I'm quite surprised you asked, but I have a very convenient shortcut to the dead, right along this way." He began to hum again, shuffling among the shelves, turning back to make sure she was following from time to time.

He pointed to a wooden door, with a cardboard sign reading, "Dead People Within!" She rolled her eyes-it couldn't get any more obvious than that.

"How will I get back to this room?"

"No fear, Miss Granger, call, and the door will make itself known to you." With that, he shoved her out the door, into the blank space beyond.


End file.
